


i'll never be your chosen one

by dustofwarfare



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Banter, Biting, M/M, Rough Sex, Zegnautus Keep, ardyn never shuts up, ff xv kink meme, hate!sex, in-game, noctis tops from the bottom, very very mild bloodplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-30
Updated: 2018-06-30
Packaged: 2019-05-31 05:20:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15112628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dustofwarfare/pseuds/dustofwarfare
Summary: With the pretense stripped away, the violence of their attraction burns like the sun.Noctis is searching for Prompto in Zegnautus Keep. What he finds is Ardyn.





	i'll never be your chosen one

**Author's Note:**

> A fill for the kinkmeme, in which the prompt was for:
> 
> _I just wanna read about Noct and Ardyn having really hot and passionate hate sex._
> 
> _Anyone remember that trope? That fighting-leads-to-fucking, because emotions running high mixed with pre-existing sexual tension, and “Make me”, and biting and scratching and wrestling to get the upper hand, and sassy dialogue mixed with “I fucking hate you” etc??_
> 
> ...like i could resist THAT. 
> 
> (No non-con or dub-con in this one-they're both into it even if they don't want to admit it.)
> 
> Title from "Broken Crown" by Mumford and Sons.

“Why, you found me,” says Ardyn, from his chair inside the control room. His boots are resting on the console, his hat tugged down over his eyes. His smile is cold, cruel, words edged with that barbed amusement that drips like molasses every time he opens his hateful mouth. “I confess, I had no idea the fifth time you passed by this door would be the time you decided to try and open it.”   
  
Noctis stares at him, this so-called  _man of no consequence_.   
  
Ardyn is the reason Noctis lost Luna. Ardyn is the reason Prompto is held captive somewhere in this hellhole, the reason Iggy’s blind and Noctis is going to  _tear him apart with his bare fucking hands_  and how is  _that_  for some gods-damn fucking consequences?   
  
“Yeah, you made it real hard,” Noctis says, advancing on him. His hands are trembling at his sides, fingers aching and nails digging into the skin of his palms. He’s never felt this angry in his whole life, and there’s a fine sheen of red, a haze, over his vision.   
  
Noctis always thought that was just a saying, being so angry you see red. Now he knows it isn’t.   
  
“I must confess, Noct,” Ardyn says, not looking bothered in the least that Noctis is staring at him like he wants to flay his skin down to the bone, “I had assumed your first order of business would be finding poor Prompto.” He makes a  _tsking_ sound and shakes his head. “Choosing vengeance over friendship – why, I don’t know if I’m disappointed or  _proud_  of you.”   
  
Noctis hears his words, the taunts, but they’re nothing more than ambient sounds overshadowed by the orchestra of his rage; a momentary, discordant annoyance, like someone in the audience who starts coughing during the final act of the symphony.   
  
Noctis pushes a few chairs out of the way as he crosses the room, his heartbeat a roar in his ears. “You son of a bitch,” he snarls, grabbing at Ardyn’s coat, and he’s so angry, oh, he’s never felt like this before, he wants to lean down and tear Ardyn’s throat out with his teeth. He wants it so badly his jaw aches.   
  
“Noct,” Ardyn says, placatingly, like he’s trying to talk Noctis out of shaking a particularly fragile Yule present in an attempt to guess its contents, “You do remember the part where I’m  _immortal_ , don’t you? The conversation we had on the train? I recall you were a bit overwhelmed at the time, but I should think you would remember that little detail. You can’t kill me.” He laughs, and Noctis is too caught up in his own head to think much about the self-deprecating undertone. “At least, not yet.”   
  
Noctis pulls his arm back and punches Ardyn in the mouth. “Totally willing to try if you are.”   
  
Ardyn’s head snaps back and Noctis feels his knuckle cut on Ardyn’s tooth, and the impact is enough to send Ardyn’s stupid ugly hat flying off his head to the floor. Ardyn turns back to look at Noctis, and his mouth curls up into a bloody sneer. The tip of his tongue touches the edge of his split lip, and Noctis feels a low throb deep in his stomach that feels uncomfortably like arousal.   
  
It only gets worse when Ardyn purrs, “Oh, dear boy. By all means. Do your worst,” sounding for all the world like Noctis has just asked to suck him off in a dance club bathroom or something equally inane.   
  
Which should be a sign that this is yet another trap and will be as fruitless as stabbing Ardyn’s ice-encrusted form on the train with Luna’s trident.   
  
But then Noctis thinks about sludging through that dreary quarry in search of the tomb, with Prompto trying so hard to make jokes, Gladio’s disgust with Noctis’s everything and Ignis pretending that marlboro fight was status quo, and all of them acting like they didn’t notice the sun was setting three hours before it should.   
  
Prompto’s betrayed look when Noctis shoved him off a moving train. Luna’s soft voice, telling Gentiana that she hoped one day Noctis would know how very much she loved him.   
  
Luna, lying broken in a heap of sodden white on the Tidemother’s weathered altar in Altissia.   
  
The smoke from Insomnia, curling lazily into a cloudy, rain-choked sky.   
  
Noctis’ armiger arsenal, the last thing that connects him to Lucis, to his kingdom and his legacy. Another hostage of Ardyn’s, a pawn in some sick game that Noctis doesn’t even understand why they’re playing, much less the rules.   
  
So instead of doing the sensible thing and going to find Prompto – Noctis does exactly as Ardyn bids, and does his worst. 

***

Ardyn is an imposing man, and despite Noctis’s skill with hand-to-hand combat – which is considerable, even without weapons – he’s not easy to unbalance. Noctis learned how to fight, he knows how to use his smaller size and speed to overtake someone bigger than he is. And for a moment it seems to be working; he’s landing blows, over and over again, fists striking against kidneys and other vulnerable organs.   
  
Ardyn’s making sounds that sound like pain, but it doesn’t take long before Noctis realizes they’re not genuine. He sounds like a cartoon character, and when Noctis glances up through the sweat and angry tears stinging his eyes it’s to see Ardyn wearing a patronizing expression as he grunts in faux-pain, like an adult humoring a child while wrestling on the floor during Saturday morning cartoons.   
  
_Oh, no, you got me, yes, you’re very tough, oh no, what will I do now…!_    
  
“Oh, fuck  _you_ ,” Noctis snarls, bringing his knee up to go for Ardyn’s groin. “You think I’m playing around, here?”   
  
“No, actually, and that’s why it’s so disappointing.” Ardyn sighs. “It’s been, what, three, four minutes and you haven’t  _once_  tried to go for my eyes? Really, Noct. I shall have words with Gladio about your training.”   
  
“Shut up, why can’t you – why can’t you just  _shut up_ ,” Noctis pants, shoving a hand through his bangs to push them off his face.   
  
Ardyn, damn him, just leans back against the console and smirks. “Well, I would, were you capable of making me.”   
  
Fuck this. He wanted to do this nice and personal, but whatever. It’ll be worth it just to make this asshole  _go away_. Noctis whips out his hand and makes a fist, the Ring of the Lucii aimed directly at Ardyn’s hateful, stupid smirking face.   
  
Ardyn laughs. “Oh, I’m afraid that isn’t going to work here, Noct. No, if you wish to take me down, you’ll have to do it with your bare hands and…well. We’ve seen that’s not your strong suit.” Ardyn examines his nails. “Why don’t you run along and find your little friend, hmm? Surely he won’t appreciate the precious moments you’re spending dallying with me when you could be setting the poor boy’s mind at ease.”   
  
Noctis responds by swinging a chair at him. It works, if only because Ardyn isn’t expecting it – the edge of the metal chair slams into the side of his head and he stumbles away from the console, and oh, Noctis finds the snarl he gets in response so much more satisfying than the smirk.   
  
“You were saying?” Noctis drawls, as if it’s ever a good idea to encourage Ardyn to keep talking.   
  
“Oh, to think that I came out of the darkness for  _this_ ,” Ardyn hisses, and then – he moves, faster than he should be able to, and catches Noctis around the throat. “I signed the procurement form to order those chairs. It would be laughable if it weren’t so  _sad_.”   
  
Gods, he likes the sound of his own voice. Noctis is trying to – talk, maybe, he’s gasping and reaching up to drag Ardyn’s hands off his throat. Ardyn slams him back against the wall – the pain shudders through Noctis like a shock, and it’s too mundane to be elemancy but it hurts all the same.   
  
Ardyn leans in, so close than his breath spills warm over Noctis’s face, his mouth. “How disappointed do you think your ancestors are,  _Your Majesty_? To see you like this, relying on industrial-grade office furniture instead of your vaunted arsenal?”   
  
Now Noctis  _does_  go for Ardyn’s eyes, but Ardyn just jerks his head away – and then they’re staring at each other, breathing hard, and Noctis doesn’t know what to do. He’s aware that Ardyn isn’t actually choking him as much as he’s sort of pinning him to the wall, but it doesn’t make it any more comfortable.   
  
“Don’t think they’d – much care – what I used, as long as it worked,” Noctis grits out.   
  
Ardyn smiles. “You. Ah, look at you. My bratling prince.” Ardyn’s words are soft and almost kind, but he slams Noctis back against the wall hard enough that Noctis could swear he feels his teeth rattle. “What should I do with you?”   
  
“Fuck you,” Noctis says, trying to kick out, but Ardyn’s so much stronger than him, so much stronger than he  _looks_ , and what the fuck, why is that even fair? No one should get immortality  _and_  super-strength, that’s totally against the fucking rules.   
  
Ardyn leans in closer. There’s something  _wrong_  about him, something that swims behind the bright gold of his amber eyes, something ancient and pitiless that smells like rot and ruin. Noctis goes still, not afraid as much as he is sickly fascinated, because he feels something inside of him respond and he understands, simply and profoundly, that the two of them are not meant to exist on the same star for much longer.  
  
Ardyn’s eyes drop to his mouth, and his hands ease up around Noctis’ throat. “You feel it, don’t you? What we are to each other. Planets circling some dark singularity, waiting for the moment when we pull each other across the threshold to our lightless doom.”   
  
“Do you like,” Noctis growls, “ever hear the shit that comes out of your mouth? You sound like a comic book villain.” 

Ardyn looks _delighted._ “Do I? I’m flattered. That particular medium is known for a far more nuanced portrayal of morally ambiguous villains than its counterparts, did you know that?”   
  
“I take it back,” Noctis says, grabbing at the scarf that is inexplicably still wrapped around Ardyn’s neck with a little flourish. “You’re a cartoon villain. And not a good cartoon. The kind that they show real early in the mornings. Re-runs. The kind with a  _laugh track_.”   
  
“Not a  _laugh track_ ,” Ardyn gasps, eyes comically wide. “Oh, Noct, how your words cut me to the quick. Why, I’m so –”   
  
Noctis decides he’s had enough. He pulls on the scarf, yanks Ardyn closer, and kisses him.   
  
_Bet you didn’t see this one coming, asshole._    
  
Ardyn’s mouth tastes like the ashes of everything Noctis has ever loved turned to cinders.

And also a little like peppermint. 

***

“My,  _my_ ,” Ardyn murmurs, pulling back with a slight nip to Noctis’s bottom lip. “Here’s something I didn’t expect.”   
  
Noctis makes a sound too harsh to be a laugh and shifts his grasp on Ardyn’s scarf, so he’s holding both ends with one hand. The other he curls around the back of Ardyn’s neck, tangling his fingers in that thick, absurdly colored hair. It feels good to do this, to pull, to taste Ardyn’s involuntary gasp before Noctis kisses him again.   
  
It’s not that unexpected. As Noctis shoves his tongue in Ardyn’s mouth he remembers standing in a car park beneath the hot Lestallum sun, Ardyn’s car (the same unnatural hue as his hair, why was that the only thing Ardyn owned that  _matched_?) and Ardyn purring  _allow me to choose your driver_ , smirking at Noctis’ offer to ride with him and telling him  _the cab fare might be more than you bargained for_.  
  
The heightened awareness that’s always burned like embers between the two of them; from that very first moment in Galdin Quay by the sea, to Lestallum, to the impersonal coldness of an imperial airship, to the weed-choked waters of Steyliff Grove. It was only after Altissia that the awareness was tinged with antagonism, though it felt like it had always been there, slumbering and waiting to rise like a daemon seeking nightfall.   
  
With the pretense stripped away, the violence of their attraction burns like the sun.   
  
Ardyn’s hands – and gods, his hands are  _big_  – shift from holding Noctis by his throat to gripping hard at Noctis' hips. Ardyn shoves a thigh between Noctis’ legs and slides him up the metal wall. Noctis’ back hits against controls and switches and he wonders how many fucking poison gas controls he’s just switched on as he wraps his legs around Ardyn’s waist and kisses him like he  _fucking_  means it.   
  
“I want to kill you,” Noctis groans, when he has to pull his mouth away to breathe.  _Eventually_.   
  
“Mmm,” Ardyn murmurs, his thigh a maddening pressure against Noctis’ cock. “It feels like you want to do something else, dear boy.” His stubble scrapes across Noctis’ skin. “Though I’m not sure I have any faith you’ll be any more competent doing that than you were in hand-to-hand combat.”   
  
Noctis pulls Ardyn’s head back, thrilling at how careful he doesn't have to be. “That’s so obvious, even I can tell what you’re doing.”   
  
“Can you? How surprising. Here I thought the only signs you’d recognize would be either made out of neon, or explained to you by that advisor of yours.”   
  
Noctis does not want to hear Ardyn talk about Ignis. He tries to kiss him again, one hand still buried in Ardyn’s hair as he attempts to get to the bottom of the mysterious pile of clothes concealing Ardyn’s upper body. He gives up somewhere around the clasp of a hood and the buttons of a high collar, drops his hand down and goes for a belt instead.   
  
“You certainly must think me easy,” Ardyn says, and Noctis has a moment of wishing fervently that he himself didn’t need to breathe, if only so he could keep kissing Ardyn and stop him from talking.   
  
Noctis pulls his head to the side and bites him on the side of the neck. Sinking his teeth into Ardyn’s skin is so much more satisfying that punching him that Noctis doesn’t want to stop. He wants to feel skin break between his teeth, but no matter how hard he bites, that satisfying feeling of tearing never comes.   
  
“You’ve bitten off a bit more than you can chew, Noct,” Ardyn says, his voice a low dark rumble like thunder. “Not that I’m complaining. But let me assure you, though I doubt you’ll heed my warning, you might not find my blood to your liking.”   
  
Noctis doesn’t think that’s true. He wants nothing more than to make Ardyn bleed for what he’s done, but he remembers that sense of  _other_  he felt when he was staring into Ardyn’s eyes and some sense of self-preservation makes him pull his head away from Ardyn’s neck.   
  
“I, however,” Ardyn says, “have no such compunction.”   
  
Noctis makes an undignified sound as Ardyn’s palm goes under his chin, shoving ungently upward so that Noctis’ neck is exposed. Noctis’ whole body shivers in instinctual fear at having his throat exposed to a predator, then he gets annoyed at himself for giving Ardyn enough credit to consider him a predator. “Yeah, yeah,” he mutters, his hand still working at Ardyn’s buckle. “I’m starting to think you’re all talk and no substance, Chancellor.”   
  
Ardyn laughs against Noctis’ throat. “Oh, Noctis.” He sounds almost fond, and despite his earlier words he doesn’t bite Noctis straightaway, just mouths at his neck with hot, open-mouthed kisses that make Noctis’s breath tangle in his throat. “If only you’d been born a century or two earlier.” He grabs Noctis’ wrists and pulls Noctis’ hands away from his body, slamming them above Noctis’ head and pinning them there with inhuman strength and only one hand, damn him. “How I would have  _wrecked_  you.”  
  
He does bite, then, and Noctis feels his skin tear, smells the tang of blood, copper-sweet, and knows its his own. Noctis struggles, not liking his hands being restricted, and his legs around Ardyn’s waist are twisting now, trying to get leverage. “Sounds like an excuse.”  
  
Maybe Ardyn’s not the only one who can’t stop talking. Despite his discomfort – Ardyn’s grip is bruising on Noctis' wrists, the various controls and knobs are digging painfully into his back and his neck throbs – he’s still turned on, and he can’t help the noise he makes when he feels Ardyn  _licking_  up his neck, slow and easy, like he’s savoring the taste.  
  
When Ardyn pulls back, he smiles. There’s a smear of red on his lips –  _Noctis’ blood_  – and a gleam in his eyes, and the awareness, the  _truth_ , of what Ardyn is hovers tantalizingly just beyond Noctis' reach.   
  
Ardyn lifts his free hand, the one not restraining Noctis against the wall, and rubs his thumb over Noctis’s lower lip. “Not an excuse. Merely a regret. Your ancestors, they were like lambs shuffling unherded to the abattoir, dear Noct. I find nothing so dull as pious martyrdom. I’ve been waiting so long for you, do you know that?” His expression is an odd mix of hate and affection. "Resigned to the inevitable, and yet still you fight like a wolf."   
  
Noctis tilts his head. He thinks about this, biting at the thumb that’s rubbing his lower lip, enjoying the way Ardyn’s eyes narrow, the flash of unguarded heat as Noctis sucks Ardyn’s thumb all the way into his mouth. Noctis' tongue swirls around skin and leather before he releases it with an obscenely loud sound. “Your metaphors are bad,” he declares at length. “I’m not a sheep."   
  
That’s what abattoirs are for, right? Sheep? Noctis grew up in the Crown City. The only sheep he's ever seen were at the petting zoo.   
  
“No,” Ardyn says, shaking his head. “You're not. But the slaughterhouse waits, all the same.” 

Ardyn kisses Noctis again before Noctis can speak, and it’s not like earlier – there’s no teasing, it’s hot and eager and  _angry_ , more rage than Noctis thinks he’s felt from Ardyn, ever, since they met.   
  
But Ardyn does let go of Noctis’ wrists, so that Noctis can wriggle around and move, pushing and shoving until Ardyn gets the hint and moves back from the wall. There’s a moment where they both stop and just  _look_  at each other, their harsh breathing mingling, the lights from the monitors and various switches casting strange shadows on the harsh planes of Ardyn's face.  
  
For a moment he looks almost familiar, but Noctis can't imagine why.   
  
“You tell that to all the guys?” Noctis asks, cocky, refusing to be cowed. Ardyn hates him, Noctis gets that and he definitely feels the same, but he'll be Astrals-damned if he acts  _afraid_  of Ardyn.   
  
Ardyn’s expression turns dark and he shoves at Noctis, as if Noctis is a mindflayer who won’t let him go. “Here, I tell you how  _special_  you are, how  _important_  and how long I’ve waited for you…and all you do is mock me. I shouldn’t be surprised, really. That’s what they always said about you, wasn’t it? The press, back in dear old Insomnia.” Ardyn’s smile is all cut angles and cruelty, now. “That you were… _lackadaisical_ , that you lacked focus, that you seemed so indifferent to the future of the kingdom you would one day rule.”  
  
A kingdom of nothing but ash and air, of starlight and fire and ruin. Ardyn doesn’t say it, but he doesn’t need to. They both know what's become of Lucis. They both know Noctis is a king of nothing but an ideal, slipping away fast with the light of the sun.   
  
“You keep trying to make me angry,” Noctis says, once he’s on his own two feet. “That’s what you want from me, isn’t it? Me to hate you? You can stop trying so fucking hard. I already do.”   
  
_Blessed stars of light and life…_    
  
(Luna gasping, reaching out, a syllablossom drifting toward him in blood-soaked water.)   
  
Ardyn is right there,  _again_ , all up in Noctis’ personal space. He grabs both sides of Noctis’ face with his hands, fingers shockingly cold in contrast to the leather of his fingerless gloves. “It brings me more joy than you know to hear you say that. To know that you mean it.”   
  
The thing Noctis doesn’t understand is  _why_. Why would the Imperial Chancellor of Niflheim court his hate with such determined ferocity? Noctis has no idea, but it really does seem to make Ardyn happy that Noctis hates him. Which is – well. He can’t very well stop, even if perversely he sort of wants to because he loathes the idea of making Ardyn happy about anything.   
  
“Great,” Noctis says, because Ardyn is staring at him like he’s waiting for something. “Give me my weapons back and I’ll hate you with every single one of them.”  
  
“Precious, precious boy,” Ardyn croons. “If only it were that easy.” He reaches up and smooths Noctis’ hair back from his face. “I have no doubt, when the time comes, you will make me feel it down to my bones.”   
  
This is – so weird. He doesn’t understand the way Ardyn makes him feel, hate but also something else, an ache like he wants to strip Ardyn bare, find out what he’s hiding under the smarm and the caustic banter and theatrical outwear. “Yeah,” he says, and he shoves Ardyn again, moves fast like Gladio taught him and sweeps out with his leg to unbalance Ardyn and knock him to the ground.   
  
Part of him thinks maybe Ardyn let him do it, but then they’re kissing again – Ardyn flat on his back on the cold, steel industrial grating flooring, Noctis straddling him and once again trying to get beneath the various fastenings and buckles keeping Ardyn’s skin from his hands.   
  
“What, precisely, do you think is going to happen, here?” Ardyn asks, and Noctis is slightly gratified to hear that Ardyn’s voice is unsteady, husky and dark, and his hands are on Noctis’ hips again and he’s definitely not trying to push him away.  
  
Noctis can feel Ardyn’s cock, hard beneath him. He gives a long, slow roll of his hips, smirking because the punching and the snarking might not have elicited an honest response, but  _this_  does – and without his weapons, it seems to be the only thing that does. “I think I’m going to suck your cock.” He grabs Ardyn’s hair, pulling his head up and off the floor. “And that you’re gonna like it.”   
  
Ardyn just stares at him, something unreadable flashing in those odd eyes of his, before his mouth curves up in a slight smile. “I do hope you’ve some idea what you’re doing, Your Majesty. If you fuck like you fight, I’m liable to end up bored and vaguely irritated.”   
  
Vaguely irritated?  _Vaguely irritated?_  Gods, Noctis  _hates_  him. He grinds down on Ardyn’s cock, makes it slow and deliberate, and smirks at the soft inhalation that Ardyn’s not fast enough to hide, the spark of heat in those sunfire eyes that he can’t quite manage to bank. “You won’t be bored,” Noctis promises, then gives one more hard grind before he kisses him again, then sits back to start working at his pants.   
  
Fuck the shirt and that vest and the buckle and the stupid jacket. Noctis feels crazed and he  _wants_ , so badly, and he’s never once thought of sex as a battle or his cock as a weapon but hey, there's a first time for everything, isn't there?   
  
“You mean to suck me like this, Noct? Spread out on the floor like some twenty-gil Lestallum whore?”   
  
“Twenty gil?” Noctis says, blinking, as he pauses in his endeavors to get Ardyn’s belt open. “Wow. Really? Would’ve thought the Chancellor could have afforded to spend a little more.”   
  
“I find myself singularly unmoved by the prospect of engaging in this particular activity as of late,” Ardyn says, because somehow he can still say stuff like that even when he’s lifting his hips up so that Noctis can pull his pants down. “After all these years, it takes someone quite special to entice me into putting forth the effort.”   
  
Noctis just gives him a look, finally pulling Ardyn’s pants down around his knees. The floor is rough and painful beneath him, but he’s distracted by Ardyn’s cock, flushed and hot, proportionately in size to the rest of him. “Look pretty enticed to me.”   
  
“As I’ve told you,” Ardyn purrs. “I’ve been waiting a long time.”  
  
Noctis glances up at him. There’s maybe three or four seconds where he considers stopping this because it's insane, what he's doing-- and Ardyn reads it on his face with another one of those infuriating smirks of his.  
  
“Having second thoughts, are we?” Ardyn clicks his tongue. “That simply won’t do. Do you want me to put your on your back and show you how it’s done?”   
  
Why is he – Gods, he’s the  _worst_.  _Literally the worst_ , as Prompto is fond of saying – but no, Noctis can’t think about Prompto, can’t think about anything but the challenge lying in front of him, half-stripped and hard and taunting.   
  
“Nah,” Noctis says, thought the thought does give him an unholy sort of thrill and he wonders, again, what madness this is, this attraction between them that should never have been allowed to slink out into the light, to crawl out from the underbrush and make its way into being. “You’re so fucking desperate for my attention, I don’t think it’s gonna be that hard to impress you.”   
  
Ardyn opens his mouth, but Noctis leans down and does the same – enveloping Ardyn’s cock in his mouth and sucking hard, not gentle, staring up at him with as much challenge as he can considering the position he’s in.   
  
Ardyn’s smug expression falls off his face like water sluicing from a stone, and his head goes back. He makes a noise that’s disturbingly inhuman and even more disturbingly hot, so Noctis sucks him in earnest, tasting the salty bitterness of Ardyn’s flesh.   
  
Whatever else he might be, in this moment, Ardyn tastes like a man. 

***

Things get a little confused after that.   
  
Noctis has done this before, but not enough that he’s some kind of pro – still, what he lacks in experience he makes up in enthusiasm, because the noises Ardyn makes as Noctis sucks his cock are a thousand times more satisfying than the ones he made when Noctis was hitting him.   
  
For a few long seconds, Noctis has the upper hand – he deep throats Ardyn’s cock and gags, loudly, making it showy because he can feel  _and_  hear what it’s doing to Ardyn. But Ardyn doesn’t remain passive for long – soon he’s grabbing at Noctis’ hair and forcing himself even deeper down Noctis’ throat, growling out low and rough how Noctis should  _suck my cock like a king_.  
  
It’s the most absurd thing that Ardyn has said so far, and that’s saying something.   
  
But it gets Noctis hot for reasons he doesn’t want to think about – he actually doesn’t want to think about why he’s doing this at all – and Ardyn’s being so rough with it that Noctis wonders idly if Ardyn thinks he’s going to kill him like this, choke Noctis to death with his dick.   
  
Yeah, no. Fuck  _that_.  
  
Noctis pulls off and uses his hand, smirking down at Ardyn, who looks messed up by pleasure in a way that somehow the wild hair and ridiculous garb never quite manages. Noctis is just about to say something scathing when Ardyn moves, once again faster than a man of his size should able to. Now Noctis finds himself on his back with Ardyn looming over him like a threat.   
  
“Very proud of yourself, aren’t you, Majesty?” Ardyn’s voice always sounds caught somewhere between a sneer and a laugh, but there’s enough vitriol to tell Noctis he doesn’t think Noctis deserves the title. Ardyn kisses him before Noctis can say anything, settling between his legs and rubbing his hard cock against the bulge in Noctis’ pants.   
  
There are fingers working at the edge of his cargo pants, pulling them down. Noctis lifts his hip and hisses slightly as the cool air hits his flushed skin, and bites back a noise when Ardyn gets one of those big hands of his around Noctis’ cock. He stares up at Ardyn’s smirking face as Ardyn jerks him, the pressure perfect and just on the right side of rough, his thumb rubbing over the slick slit at the top.   
  
“The King of Kings, on his back in Imperial capital with the Chancellor’s hand on his aching cock,” Ardyn purrs. He looks so fucking pleased with himself, but Noctis, full of the kind of ardor that can only come from rage, doesn’t care.   
  
“Yeah, it’s a --  _fuck_  -- real scandal,” Noctis grits out from between clenched teeth, hips thrusting up.   
  
Ardyn snorts – it seems actually genuine – and shoves the fingers of his other hand in Noctis’s mouth. “Get these nice and wet for me, darling. I’d rather hear you scream in pleasure than pain. Today, at least.”   
  
Noctis glares at him but he does as bidden, sucking Ardyn’s fingers – the exposed skin of his fingertips, all the way down to the leather of his ridiculous gloves. He bites a little, just because he can, and from the noise that gets he can tell Ardyn likes it.   
  
It’s a little difficult to get Ardyn’s hand where it needs to be given his pants are caught up around his knees, but it works. Ardyn’s fingers burn, even as slick as they are, but Noctis finds he doesn’t much care, doesn’t want this to feel  _too_  good. His resolve wavers dangerously, though, when Ardyn’s long fingers find his prostate and massage against it with brutal precision. Noctis hisses and pushes forward on Ardyn’s fingers, but when Ardyn gives a pleased little chuckle he reaches up and pulls Ardyn’s hair, hard.   
  
“Enough,” he growls. “Fuck me already. I’ve got places to be.”   
  
“Oh, Noctis, I don’t think you want to talk to me, of all people, about being patient,” Ardyn says, and there’s something inherently cruel in his gaze, despite the flush on his face and the lust blurring his voice into something dark and whiskey-smooth.   
  
“Oh, Ardyn, I don’t think I want to talk at all.” Noctis gives him a heavy-lidded stare and then  _yawns_. “Get to it before I take a nap.”  
  
Ardyn lets go of Noctis’ cock to grab around his throat and  _squeeze_. “ _Empires_  have risen and fallen since I made up my mind,  _Your Majesty_.”  
  
“Guess you’ll be able to add one more, when I’m through,” Noctis manages, through the pressure on his throat. It’s not making his erection flag at all – if anything, his cock gets even harder as a result.   
  
“I’m counting on it, darling,” Ardyn coos at him, then moves between his thighs.  
  
It’s not an easy thing to manage, Noctis’ slim frame being so much smaller than Ardyn's, and Noctis' pants and boots are keeping him from spreading his legs fully. It means Ardyn has to practically lay on top of him, which only reinforces Ardyn’s size. But Noctis is far from intimidated, especially when Ardyn’s cock replaces his fingers and he starts to press in.   
  
Noctis moans despite himself – the stretch is painful and he’s glad of it, it keeps him here in the moment and makes it impossible to forget where he is, what he's doing and who he’s doing it with.  
  
“C’mon,” Noctis taunts, keeping a firm grip on Ardyn’s hair while he jerks his own cock with his free hand. “Do it harder, make me feel it.”   
  
“Such a demanding little thing, aren’t you?” Ardyn has his hands braced next to Noctis’ head on the floor, and his hips snap forward with enough pressure that Noctis sees stars behind his eyelids. “Far be it from me not to give His Majesty his due.”  
  
Noctis pulls even harder on Ardyn’s wild hair, and he's surprised he's not pulling strands out by the fistfull. “Really not in the mood for you to fuck me like a king, here.”   
  
“Would you rather I fuck you like a commoner?” Ardyn pauses in his rough thrusts to grind his hips in a slow circle, which makes Noctis  _writhe_  beneath him.   
  
“I’d rather you shut up,” Noctis pants. “But I get the feeling you’re not into that.”  
  
“Forgive me for saying so, Noct, but you’re not exactly the silent,  _lay back and think of Lucis_  type, yourself.”   
  
Noctis is horrified to hear himself laugh; of all the reactions Ardyn is getting out of him – honest anger and lust and even pleasure --  _amusement_  is the only one he regrets. Ardyn can fuck him into a mind-blowing orgasm but Noctis will be  _gods-damned_  if the bastard makes him laugh.   
  
“Guess I’m not,” Noctis says, and isn’t quite quick enough to catch his moan when Ardyn goes back to a hard and fast rhythm, cock dragging over his prostate with every thrust in a way that really shouldn’t be possible, but makes as much sense as anything else about this entire thing.   
  
The banter falls by the wayside for a moment as Ardyn fucks him and Noctis jerks himself off in time with Ardyn’s thrusts. He’s getting close and he pulls Ardyn forward to kiss him; Noctis bites at Ardyn’s mouth and Ardyn returns the favor, hard enough that Noctis tastes blood and knows it has to be his.   
  
Ardyn makes a noise when he tastes it, ruined and desperate, a sound he’s not made even when he’s been wrecking Noctis’ ass with his cock.   
  
Noctis put his hand around the back of Ardyn’s head, opening his mouth, letting him have what he wants while Ardyn fucks him brutally into the floor. He’s making caught sounds of pleasure and pain, and finally he feels Ardyn reach down and knock his hand off his cock.   
  
“Please,” Ardyn murmurs against Noctis’ blood-stained mouth. “Allow me.”   
  
He doesn’t want to, not really – but it’s too much effort to stop, and letting Ardyn stroke him off means he can concentrate on how it feels getting fucked this hard, can pull Ardyn’s hair with both hands and use the leverage to lift up into Ardyn’s hips.   
  
“Gods, I fucking hate you,” Noctis moans, seconds before the pressure breaks and he comes, wet and messy, all over Ardyn’s fist. It rushes through him, drenching-white and hot and good, his toes flexing as he comes so hard his calf muscles seize up in protest.   
  
Ardyn moans, too, as Noctis’ muscles clench around his still-thrusting cock. He buries his face in the spot between Noctis’ neck and shoulder, rhythm faltering and turning hurried as he nears his end. He whispers silkily in Noctis’ ear, “Oh, just  _wait_. There’s so much more to come.”   
  
It’s not intended as a pun, Noctis doesn’t think, but Ardyn’s body goes still and he shudders, making a sound that doesn’t sound quite human as he spills inside the tight clench of Noctis’ body.   
  
There’s a few seconds where they both catch their breath, Ardyn still sprawled on top of him and Noctis pretending his ribs aren’t getting crushed to death. He lets go of his grip on Ardyn’s hair, and his knuckles ache from how tight he was holding on. He shoves at Ardyn’s shoulder, impatient, a rush of cold realism replacing the incendiary heat of passion that led to the two of them fucking like animals on the floor.   
  
“Get off,” Noctis grumbles, when Ardyn doesn’t move.   
  
“I did,” Ardyn says, and if he were anyone else, Noctis might have laughed.   
  
Instead, he just shoves harder. “We’re done here.”   
  
“Maybe. Maybe not.” Ardyn pulls out, eyes on Noctis’ face as if he’s relishing the wince from the sudden movement. He moves away and watches as Noctis fumbles to pull up his pants and underwear.   
  
Noctis’ fingers are still aching and trembling, and he’s a  _mess_  but he doesn’t care. He gets himself situated and leaps up to his feet, raking a hand through his hair.   
  
Ardyn is standing now, as well, as put together as if nothing untoward had happened at all.   
  
They stare at each other. There’s the sound of some kind of alarm, and a few lights start flashing.   
  
“Off you go, then,” Ardyn says, cooly polite as he retrieves his hat. “I believe you’re looking for something.”   
  
“Not something. Someone,” Noctis corrects, annoyed all over again. He best get out of here before they repeat the whole process. He takes a step toward the controls, intending to use the monitors to find where he needs to go.   
  
“If you say so.” Ardyn smoothly steps in front of him. “Ah-ah,” he says, shaking his finger like he’s scolding a small child. “I spent too much time arranging this little adventure for you to ruin it by  _cheating_. Run along, Noct. You’ll find what you’re seeking, eventually. We both will.”   
  
Noctis rolls his eyes, turns his back on Ardyn, and walks out of the door.   
  
Three seconds later, he’s ambushed by daemons.   
  
Figures.   
  
“Asshole,” he mutters, aiming the Ring at them. “Couldn’t have let me get out of the godsdamned hallway first?”   
  
Ardyn’s laugh comes over the speakers, echoing maniacally in the hallway. Noctis ignores it, and presses on. 


End file.
